


Gentle Like an Earthquake

by ImJaebabie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Feelings, Ambiguous Relationships, Awkwardness, Bruises, Fluff, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Semi-Canon Compliant, a bit o' the spice, care for him, give the soft boy what he needs, he needs The Love, injured!Taeyong, not to make light of taeyongs real life injuries but like my jaeyong brain couldn't not do this, protective!Jaehyun, some sauce n' spice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 20:08:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16271438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImJaebabie/pseuds/ImJaebabie
Summary: Some stages take more of a toll on the body than others, and when a recent performance leaves Taeyong worse for wear, Jaehyun's patience is used up. Come hell or high water, Jaehyun WILL get Taeyong to relax and rest.





	Gentle Like an Earthquake

**Author's Note:**

> oof kids idk why i was compelled to write this one but i sure did. arguably the spiciest little nugget i've given y'all yet. probably the spiciest i'll ever get. please enjoy this weird...ness.
> 
> (only semi-canon compliant because, as always, i have no fucking clue whether this type of shit would ever happen. god bless and save nct's managers for knowing what does. anyway taeyong falling 6+ times in one show is the wackest shit i've ever heard and so my anger coping mechanism is to imagine...uh, this.)

When Taeyong falls the first time, it’s an unfortunate slip-up, a rare occurrence. He’s as sure on his feet as any of them, more so than some but less than others, and too well-practiced to exhibit regular clumsiness. It’s nothing, but it happens sometimes.

When he falls a second time, it’s a concern.

Jaehyun pays more attention to the stage, noticing the shine off the spots that are dangerously slick. He toes into the next move with a little more care, focusing his attention beneath the sole of his shoe. The step is mostly firm, traction stable enough, but he can feel the subtle hint of slide where a lesser shoe would lose grip quickly. Jaehyun’s eyes flick to Taeyong just in time to see his footwear betray him a third time, and cringe as the hard, smooth surface aggressively meets his hip bone. It’s only because he knows him well that Jaehyun can see the fraction of a delay he takes in hopping back up into the choreography.

By the time Taeyong’s fallen twice more, Jaehyun is bordering on the edge of distraction, his own moves subtly suffering as he twitches to go make certain the older boy is alright. Even a change of shoes hasn’t made the necessary difference to protect the normally agile dancer. Jaehyun tries to send Taeyong a look in the second where the choreography takes them past one another, but Taeyong doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s just long enough for Jaehyun to note the glazed look of pain below his stage-ready smile, just short enough that he can’t determine whether Taeyong can keep going. Little slip-falls aren’t the most detrimental thing that can happen to them on stage—a _real_ fall off a lift would be much worse, an accident with a stage element like a light or pyrotechnic almost unthinkable—but enough of them can add up.

And Taeyong isn’t nicely padded at the hips like Johnny, or quite as young and resilient as Haechanie or Mark. He doesn’t have the battle anger that Yuta would in the same situation, where pure rage and adrenaline can save him from pain.

He’s just Taeyong—built like a wire model sitting on an artist’s desk to guide the shapes under their pencil. He’s just porcelain bones and a layer of trim muscle with about as much body fat as a bottle of almond milk. He’s both coltish and slight, and while he darts swift and elegant like a live hummingbird when he dances, when he breaks he does so like one made of glass and takes Jaehyun’s heart right with him.

Jaehyun’s concern spikes an all-time high at the sixth fall. That’s it. That’s _enough_. No, fuck that, it’s more than enough, it’s absolutely over the line, unacceptable. Taeyong’s visibly slow to get up, obviously pushed to his limit, and Jaehyun’s jaw is clenched so tight it aches and the music blurs to muted tones in his ears. Taeyong will hate him if he stops now, if he pushes the others aside and ushers the leader off stage where it’s safer, where he will have to sit and rest. It’s only muscle memory and willpower that carries Jaehyun through the completion of the performance, and only herculean restraint that holds him till the end of the final ment and greetings. But god, Taeyong’s _limping_ , discomfort written all over his face like Cursiva script and the need to pick him up, carry him elsewhere is so strong Jaehyun thinks he’s never had another solid thought since he was born.

The second it’s all done, Jaehyun learns it’s not just him. He’s not shocked, but more startled, because he doesn’t anticipate Johnny and Yuta in his way, nor especially Jungwoo. But the tallest two bracket Taeyong the moment the group is out of sight of the stage, loop his arms over their shoulders and it’s easy as breathing to lift his feet off the ground when they’re inches above him already. Yuta divests them each of their mics with practiced efficiency and takes Jaehyun’s too, handing them off to Winwin before taking the lead to clear a path out.

Jaehyun falls in step with Johnny, the burning in his chest not allowing them to simply take over what he’s been itching to do for the eternity of minutes since Taeyong first slipped.

“Put him on my back,” he says, jaw still tight.

Johnny hardly glances over. “Thanks, but I think we’ve got him.” On Taeyong’s other side, Jungwoo hums agreement.

“I’m serious, let me carry him.”

Johnny does spare him a look, an uncertain one, momentarily reading him. “It’s fine, Jaehyun. Drop it.”

A strained sigh sounds from between the taller members as they make their way through the backstage area. “You can all put me down, I don’t need to be carried.”

Johnny’s typically warm chuckle is thinned with stress. “Don’t think so, T’Yongie. We all saw that limp.”

Winwin, hands free of mics at the aid of a swift staff member, glances over his shoulder from ahead of them, nodding to affirm. His eyes skim over Jaehyun as well, and his brow furrows. Jaehyun subtly bares his teeth; he doesn’t know why, some long-buried protective instinct dredged to the surface, and Winwin’s brows shoot up instead.

“Johnny...” Jaehyun persists, voice rough and growl-like even to his own hearing. He can see Taeyong wincing as they go, jostled even with their two arms around his waist supporting him between them. If he were carrying Taeyong the way he wants, if Johnny would _fucking let him do it_ , he _knows_ Taeyong wouldn’t look like that. He’s sure.

“Jaehyun, we are almost to the damn car, if you don’t cool off I will tell the manager to send you in a separate vehicle. Are we clear?”

Jaehyun stops short, face hot with anger and embarrassment. Johnny’s never spoken to him like that before. To some of the others, on rare occasion, but never to _him_. As if he’s done something wrong.

Jungwoo and Johnny carry Taeyong away from Jaehyun and the car is there waiting. Jaehyun follows slowly, denying that his pride’s notched, standing aloof while the others file into the vehicle. He gets it, he’s heard Johnny loud and clear. He’s not needed, and his worry isn’t recognized, and that’s all fine, because obviously _Johnny_ should get to do all of it, and Jungwoo’s been with them for _twelve minutes_ so of course he should be the one Taeyong relies on.

“Jaehyun.”

He turns. Johnny’s face is impassive.

“Get in the car, Jae.”

He does so, aware that he’s being petulant, powerless to be otherwise. Until he sees that the only open seat left is the one beside Taeyong, his other flank covered by Taeil and his quiet, soothing mumblings. Jaehyun knows the members are giving him looks as he maneuvers to the seat, sliding oh-so-carefully into the space so he doesn’t cause the leader any more hurt.

Satisfaction pours over Jaehyun like a dousing of warm water when Taeyong leans into him, shifting his thin hips with a barely stifled whimper of pain to rest against Jaehyun’s sturdier thigh and tilt his weight onto Jaehyun’s torso. In the privacy of the car Taeyong seems to finally admit he’s hurting, his eyes screwed shut and lips frowning.

Taeil gives a small smile and leans out of Taeyong’s space, leaving room for Jaehyun to snake his arms around Taeyong and support him fully from behind.  

“You can relax, I’ve got you,” he mutters against the shell of his ear, feeling more than seeing the slight nod in response.

They ride back to the hotel in moderate quiet, save the whispering between Mark and Donghyuck in the middle seat. Part of Jaehyun would like to shush them, but he’s simmered now at getting to care for Taeyong and their excitement over the show is warranted. He shouldn’t get mad at them if Taeyong isn’t, at least...and he’s not—he’s doing very little, possibly even asleep, the wear and drag of travel and hectic foreign schedules eating away at the leader’s stamina. He adjusts at one point, melting further against Jaehyun’s chest, and turns his cheek to Jaehyun’s shoulder while he faces toward Taeil. The younger gently tightens his arms around Taeyong’s waist, holding him firmly, and breathes out against his hair as Taeyong slides a hand down to squeeze his nearer knee, the other up to splay on the cross of his arms.

In a blink they’re at the hotel, and the others are piling out of the car with mumbled requests for food and groans of exhaustion. Taeyong seems not to notice, so Jaehyun hums at his ear and whispers the need for them to move. Taeil gets out first and offers Taeyong a hand while Jaehyun lifts at his waist, mindful not to push on his clearly aggravated back. Johnny’s waiting too, though he’s sent Jungwoo on ahead this time. It’s not a fact Jaehyun misses, and he shoots a grateful look at his hyung. _Thank you._

“Let’s get him upstairs.”

“Which room is his again?”

“Your room is his.”

Jaehyun takes that for what it is, doesn’t question it. Winwin has been sent somewhere else, he assumes, and that saves him the battle of begging Doyoung to switch out.

They support Taeyong again, though he complains against it while people can see them, and Jaehyun learns it’s not that easy to keep him steady and walk smoothly at the same time. So he resolves to apologize to Jungwoo later, in case he made him uncomfortable, or even if he didn’t. Jaehyun doesn’t like the thought of the other members seeing him so upset, thinking him unreliable at keeping himself collected. _Ah, so I’ll apologize to Winwin too._

“Jaehyun, please stop thinking so loudly,” Taeyong asks wearily. “This elevator is too small for you to be filling it up with all your anxiety.”

“Sorry.”

Johnny’s grinning in the reflection across from them and it almost cracks a smile on Jaehyun’s face too, but the image of Taeyong half-dangling between them like a cat stuck on a wire sort of ruins it. That image splits in half as the doors slide open on their floor, and Taeil holds the door to the room open so they can angle him inside.

Taeyong stops them from putting him straight in bed, saying, “Just let me down here, I can walk you know.” He eases back onto his own feet as Johnny reluctantly agrees, and half-limps toward the bathroom, one hand pressed to his lower back as if to keep it in place.

Jaehyun makes to follow him, as Johnny asks, “Do you want food? Or some ice? Or hot ‘n cold packs?”

“I just want to take a bath. Thanks.”

“Well, call if that changes…you’ll call me, right, Jaehyun-ah?”

“I’ll call.” Jaehyun agrees and pauses to nod at Johnny before he leaves, Taeil waiting for him still at the door. As it clicks shut behind them, Jaehyun pushes into where he can hear bathwater already running, privacy be damned.

Taeyong’s gotten as far as removing his shirt and is working on his jewelry, his shoes kicked off by the door. Jaehyun picks them up and brings them back to set neatly by the closet, since his luggage isn’t in the room. When he returns, he freezes for a moment and bites back a sharp breath. It’s only been a couple of hours and Taeyong’s already sporting colorful bruises on his thighs and the bit of his hip that his shorts aren’t covering, and Jaehyun is willing to bet they’re worse underneath.

“It looks worse than it is,” Taeyong clarifies, standing with his weight directed all to one side, favoring pressure on his left hip rather than the right. He offers his clothes to Jaehyun, whose face is taught and red with anger, exacerbated by the hot steam quickly filling the room and fogging over the mirror.

“Can you get me some clothes while I wash up?”

“I don’t think I should leave you. Let’s help you get in safely and—”

“Jaehyunnie.” Taeyong shuffles close to him, pressing the clothes into his hands and lifting a hand to his cheek. “I’m not an invalid. Yes, I’m sore and a bit hurt, but I can take a bath without drowning. And I need clothes. So please stop worrying for like, ten minutes.”

Jaehyun can’t fight those doe eyes, never has been able to, so he just nods and tries to crystalize the feeling of Taeyong’s small, cool fingers leaving his heated face with wispy invisible wakes. Firm pressure on his shoulders pushes Jaehyun backwards out of the bathroom, and when it closes he leans his forehead on the surface and takes a few deep breaths with his eyes closed. The pictures on his eyelids though are maroon and magenta and blurring into bluish-purple against creamy smooth, and even if the bruises on Taeyong’s skin aren’t as bad as they could be he doesn’t like them just the same. After a minute he pushes away and drops Taeyong’s still-warm clothes on the bed, then gathers Winwin’s things and leaves the room.

Taking Winwin’s luggage out and returning with Taeyong’s, and some various supplies, uses less than ten minutes of Jaehyun’s time. But the bathroom door is still closed when he comes back, the occasional clear sound of water moving the only evidence of another person in the room. So Jaehyun folds Taeyong’s clothes carefully and puts them with his luggage, puts away his own things and changes into sweats, and turns down the bedcovers in the meantime.

He fidgets. Taeyong is taking forever and even knowing he’s alright is less comfortable than being able to see him resting. Jaehyun moves Taeyong’s luggage and sets it open on the suitcase rack—on the side of the room near the bath so he won’t have to go far for it—making it as accessible as he can, and while he does so the door suddenly opens, a hot wash of steam bursting out over him.

“Can you hand me those, please?” Taeyong asks, his tone far more relaxed as he points to the pajamas folded in plain sight in his bag. Jaehyun should have guessed he would have them ready like that. Taeyong grips his towel with one hand and the clothing Jaehyun hands him with the other, and his wet feet squeak on the tile floor where the condensation has lightly filmed.

It’s the squeak that alerts Jaehyun, when Taeyong’s taken just two steps back to change, and the sound is wrong and the sharp breath of surprise sets Jaehyun’s reflexes into motion. He lunges after the other boy, blessedly close enough to catch him where he can’t catch himself with both hands occupied. How typical of Taeyong to try and turn on his heel, so like a dancer, and lose his footing so recklessly. It’s luck, or Jaehyun’s nervous hovering, that let’s him get behind Taeyong fast enough. They both stand breathing fast for a few seconds, Jaehyun’s nerve endings fizzing and a frightened tremor rippling across Taeyong’s shoulders.

“Th-thanks…” he whispers, voice small and shaky.

Jaehyun takes a deep, deep breath and makes a decision. “I’m done with this now.”

“What?”

Keeping an arm where it is wrapped at Taeyong’s ribs, Jaehyun ducks down and hooks the other under his knees and lifts without any more forewarning. The only place Taeyong will be falling anymore is into bed, if he has anything to do with it, and Johnny isn’t here anymore to prevent him from a bit of literal manhandling.

Taeyong yelps at the sudden motion, dropping his clothes to cling onto Jaehyun’s arm, but still holding onto his towel. It’s only about four long strides to the bed and then Jaehyun places him carefully down, propped back against plush pillows and mindful of where the soreness is probably worst in his right side. When he straightens up, Taeyong is staring at him, red in the face and wide-eyed.

“You could have given me a little warning,” he breathes, adjusting the towel self-consciously. The movement draws Jaehyun’s eyes to where the fabric has fallen away at one side, briefly revealing the older’s upper thigh and hip, though nothing more scandalous than that. Taeyong quickly recovers the side of the towel and replaces it, but not before Jaehyun can glimpse the uneven splotches of red and purple.

“I want to see them.”

The flush on Taeyong’s face spreads, his neck and chest coloring. He clutches the towel tighter. “What? No. Why? They’re not that bad!”

“Okay, they’re not that bad. Prove it. Show me.”

“Jaehyun, I’m wearing a towel—”

“Yes.”

“—it’s awkward!”

“Oh, it’s been this many years and now you’re going to be shy?”

Jaehyun isn’t sure why he feels so ready to challenge Taeyong like this, but he’s determined to judge how worried he should be for himself. Maybe Taeyong’s embarrassment is making him feel a little warm, though. Maybe his position reads as a little vulnerable, suggestive even. It doesn’t really incline Jaehyun to stand down.

“I’m not asking you to go naked, idiot,” Jaehyun clarifies, “just let me look at the bruises. Johnny sent hot and cold patches when I got your luggage. Let me figure out what you need.”

Taeyong shifts his jaw. “...fine, but just, turn around for a minute…”

Unable to help rolling his eyes, Jaehyun acquiesces, and fetches the muscle soothing items. He doesn’t ask if Taeyong’s ready before he turns back and drops them on the bed, but it seems he’s got himself sorted anyway, the towel still covering what it needs to, save the blush in his cheeks. The bruised flesh where he’d fallen is left visible.

Jaehyun draws his mouth into a thin line, frustration crawling up his spine like a stinging vine once again.

“This is what you call ‘not that bad’?”

He’s seen impressionist paintings with less color. The bruises look like flower blooms in a hapless garden grown at random, overlapping and all over the spectrum from blush pink to deepest violet, broken by hints of shocked white. Jaehyun wonders if he even has enough of these icy-hot bandage things for all of them.

Taeyong huffs. “Whenever you’re ready to quit staring at me like that and do something, would be fine…”

Taking a few patches in his hand, Jaehyun kneels at the side of the bed and peels one open, tries to decide where to place it. He brings it close to Taeyong’s upper hip, then hesitates...even as marks of pain, it’s strange that broken blood vessels below the skin can be so beautiful. He can see the subtle swelling where the skin is tender, and before he knows it he’s running his fingers lightly across to feel the raised area.

Taeyong tenses, and he stops, glancing up. But the older’s head is turned away.

Turning back, Jaehyun lays the patch over one of the biggest bruises and smoothes it carefully in place. The heat element must be effective immediately, because Taeyong sighs quietly and relaxes again.

Jaehyun opens another, keeps his fingers to himself this time, and places it. Then a third, and it hides more of the damages, and elicits another pleased sigh. Something does a little flutter in Jaehyun’s stomach.

On instinct, Jaehyun leans forward and kisses the patch.

Instead of a sigh there’s a hiss, and this time when Jaehyun looks up Taeyong is looking back. And he looks...nervous? Scared? Something Jaehyun doesn’t know.

“What did you just do?” His voice is just a whisper.

A soft, echoing memory of a voice rings in the far back of Jaehyun’s mind, and he blinks, repeating the words it tells him. “I...kissed it better? Is...is that okay?” His childhood self with a scraped knee whimpers, the memory blurry at the edges, while his mother does the same.

Taeyong just stares, so Jaehyun leans forward again, experimentally pressing his lips to the first bandage—feather-light, not enough to add any pain. He keeps his eyes on Taeyong, and watches the other pull his lower lip between his teeth, his brow crease. He doesn’t really know what that means. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, either. But when he kisses the second bandage and Taeyong exhales gently, lets his eyelids flutter shut—Jaehyun thinks whatever he’s doing is good.

Each patch he applies gets followed by a kiss, each kiss lingering a little longer, a little slower. By the time he comes to the last one Taeyong seems to have melted into the mattress, his breathing like a calm and steady tide rushing in and out at even pace, and Jaehyun’s carefully balanced up across him to take care of the marks on his opposite side.

Jaehyun pulls the paper off the last patch to put on the side of the older’s thigh, and looks at the bruised spot. He brings it close, but then presses his lips onto the bare skin instead, curious what it feels like without the synthetic material of the patch over it. The skin is smooth, the fine hair tickles his lips, and Taeyong’s breath hitches loudly. Fingers slide from the base of Jaehyun’s neck up into his hair, and he pulls away very slowly, smoothes the patch into place.

“Better?” he asks, feeling his heart racing unexpectedly. When his eyes flit to the side, Taeyong’s returned look is low-lidded, a little hazy.

“Yes,” he says hastily, “now can you...just, would you…”

His voice is so quiet, Jaehyun shifts to hear him better. He angles, and braces a palm on either side of Taeyong’s torso. He’s so aware of the fingers loose in his hair, not pulling, just present, each one a little pinpoint against his scalp.

“Would I what?” _Doesn’t matter_ , he thinks, marveling at the way his group member looks in that moment. _He’s so pretty. Probably anything._  

Taeyong licks his lips, eyes dropping to Jaehyun’s mouth. “Kiss _me_.”

A hot little electric shock skitters across Jaehyun’s skin and he nods. He bends at the elbows and feels the warm, damp pant of Taeyong’s breath a moment before bringing their lips together, their tenderness against his a drastically different thing than the cottony feel of the heat patches. Jaehyun doesn’t know how long he’s wanted to know it, but as soon as he’s kissing Taeyong he thinks probably always, probably forever after. His pent up anger and frustration at the other getting hurt seems to rush away, replaced by the press of velvety lips and the deafening beat of his own heart.

After just a few short seconds Jaehyun draws back, opening his eyes slowly to search the pair close to him. “Better?” He asks again.

Taeyong shakes his head, the movement small. “Not just yet…”

The fingers in his hair tighten and Jaehyun’s pulled back down, and this kiss is insistent, demanding. He’s been mindful and sensitive with all his touches but Taeyong doesn’t seem to share that concern, the hand not in his hair grasping at Jaehyun’s shoulder with blunt fingernails and poorly masked desperation. His kisses take on a loose feeling; Jaehyun’s lips meet partly open mouth, so he encloses Taeyong’s free lower lip between his own and pulls a little, gets a jolt when Taeyong chases and searches with his tongue. _Impatient, surprising_ , Jaehyun thinks absently, his thoughts more a frenzied scurry than anything he can follow. But he isn’t really trying, more focused on pushing Taeyong deeper into the pillows and answering his wordless demands.

The feathers compress behind Taeyong’s grey-blonde hair, and Jaehyun revels in the weak whimper he gets for sinking his tongue into the heat of his mouth. He can almost ignore the aching burn in his arms from bracing for this long, but Taeyong pulling at his neck is making it more difficult to hold steady. As much as he wants to remain lip-locked, he’s so close to giving out, his arms already sore from a lot of unanticipated carrying earlier. Jaehyun licks into a particular corner of Taeyong’s mouth, like a final act before he means to straighten away, but it’s impossible because...Taeyong moans.

It surprises both of them.

Jaehyun only needs to glance at Taeyong’s face for a second before he’s scrambling onto the bed properly, aware only of the new and burning need he has to hear that sound again. His hyung seems just as keen, just as captivated by the prospect, going by the frenetic activity of his hands. Taeyong can’t seem to make up his mind; his hands are at Jaehyun’s neck, waist, arms, hair, never anywhere longer than a pair of seconds while the younger struggles to find the best angle to keep kissing him indefinitely. Finally he gives up on the space parallel to Taeyong and hoists one leg to the other side of him, straddling the dancer’s trim waist and ducking down to swallow up his squeak of surprise. Jaehyun likes that sound too, but it’s the other one he’s after more, testing every possible avenue his tongue can find to elicit it while Taeyong’s hands slide tantalizingly up his thighs. He just doesn’t seem to be doing whatever the right thing is to get it, and that won’t do.

There’s a growing heat in the pit of Jaehyun’s stomach and the closer Taeyong’s fingers creep toward it, the more Jaehyun just wants to hear his unraveled sound, to know he’s just as overwhelmed. So he disconnects their mouths and ventures another tactic, latching his mouth to the older’s collarbone and rolling his hips down low to meet their counterparts. The movement is instinctual, dictated by the burn Taeyong’s lit under his skin, and so he does it without much additional thought.

A few things happen very quickly.

The instant Jaehyun applies more than the barest pressure, Taeyong does moan, and it sounds like a sonata to Jaehyun’s ears—for about half a second. Then it’s cut short into a stunted groan, or maybe more of a pained yelp, and Jaehyun achieves instant clarity about two very critical things. One, that Taeyong is, in actuality, very naked at the moment, and two, that the reason isn’t nearly as sexy as the situation might imply.

It’s with a violent speed that Jaehyun throws himself sideways, removing his weight from Taeyong’s waist with utmost urgency and curling into a ball of shame on the open side of the bed. His heart is rocketing around in his chest, he can’t breathe hardly to save his life, and his sweats feel abnormally constricting in a way he’d really like Taeyong not to point out if he’s noticed. But above all that, despite spending the past few hours in seething anger, he’s managed to forget about Taeyong’s injury in favor of his own pleasure, and that’s downright despicable.

“Jaehyun-ah,” Taeyong’s voice floats over to him with a breathy rasp. Jaehyun squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head vehemently. _Please, don’t say anything more_ , he mentally begs.

The bed shifts and Jaehyun can hear Taeyong clamber out of it, tiny little grunts of discomfort the only other sound he makes. Jaehyun would jump to help him, demand he stay still for his back’s sake, but he’s too ashamed and frankly too aroused to allow himself to move, so he holds himself very still instead. Then Taeyong stops shuffling around and the bed dips again, the disruption of its even surface continuing until Jaehyun can feel that Taeyong’s kneeling right behind him.

“Jaehyunnie, look at me.”

Again, Jaehyun shakes his head. But Taeyong is stubborn and stronger than he looks, and when his determined fingers dig into Jaehyun’s arm and insist he roll onto his back, there isn’t much the younger can do in protest besides keeps his hands fisted tightly at his sides. Jaehyun meets his eyes with no small amount of trepidation, at least half in fear that Taeyong’s still naked, but gathers some relief at noticing he’s at least pulled on his shorts, if nothing else.

He looks surprisingly insecure: face still somewhat flushed, lips swollen-red and tender, but eyes searching.

“What was...what was that?”

The question breaks Jaehyun out of his daze and pulls his eyes up. “I don’t know.”

Taeyong runs his tongue over his lip. “Is it over?” He looks so small, folded up at Jaehyun's side with his hands tucked under his bent legs, shoulders hunched up. Fragile. 

“Yes? I think, it should be. I hurt you more. I hate that.”

“You didn’t hurt me, you just surprised me. But, would you want it to be over? If I wasn’t hurt?”

Jaehyun feels like squirming, confronted with a question that loops through the reasoning behind all his earlier emotion. “I don’t know.”

“Oh. Well...I’d like it to...not be over. Whatever it is.”

All the blood in all of Jaehyun’s veins turns to seltzer and holding Taeyong’s gaze doesn’t help it. The smart thing would be to turn away in the time Taeyong bends down, but he doesn’t, and this time around Taeyong’s lips press softly. A simple kiss.

Jaehyun adjusts to gain a tentative hold on Taeyong’s waist, supportive and light, away from any bruising. “Don’t,” he mutters into the lips against his, contradicting his actions, “don’t start more. I don’t want to risk hurting you further.”

But Taeyong hums noncommittally and stretches out beside him, only wincing a little, and cuddles into Jaehyun like he’s some sort of large plushie animal. He wiggles into place, draping partially on top of the slightly larger boy and tucking his face into the open crook of his neck.

“Are you going to use me as a pillow?”

Taeyong lifts his head. “I’d like to. Any objections?”

“No.”

“Good,” Taeyong smiles out the word, once again bringing their lips together and kissing slow, languid, a creeping lava-flow of a kiss with similar heat. Feeling a little less like he’s teetering on the edge of a precipice, or balancing a stack of fine china on one hand, Jaehyun relaxes and responds, letting Taeyong mould their tongues together and sigh contentedly. He’s suddenly exhausted, and lazily making out is soothing.

Taeyong presses a messy smooch to the side of Jaehyun’s lips and grins. “Can you do one other thing for me, Jaehyun-ah?” he asks, sweet honey in his voice.

And maybe Jaehyun should be careful, should set boundaries about what he’ll agree to, but his mind’s moving too slowly now to put much advance precaution up.

“Sure, hyung.”

Dipping down to his ear, Taeyong whispers and a warm flush caps Jaehyun’s ears. “Oh, um, are you sure? I don’t think—“

“Please Jaehyun, it can be little. I just want one bruise today that’s from something that feels good instead of painful.”

 _Dammit._ It’s the doe eyes again, big and round and pleading, that Jaehyun can’t say no to. In this case in particular, he can’t really say anything, and just nods.

Taeyong’s eyes bend into crescents and he shifts onto his back again, unintentionally alluring with his arms bent and hands open, palms up by his shoulders. Jaehyun leans onto his side and scans the prominent line of collarbone that juts out, the slim neck and bony shoulders. He picks a spot just below Taeyong’s collar, right above his heart—because Jaehyun’s always been cheesy like that—and bows his head down to it, interlacing his fingers with both Taeyong’s hands as he goes. Their hands squeeze together as Jaehyun presses his lips there, first to frame, and then mouths wider and sucks instead, grazes the spot lightly with his teeth. He can tell Taeyong is trying his best to remain still, but his escalated breathing gives him away as Jaehyun kitten-licks the first hints of the mark soothingly.

“Not enough,” Taeyong stutters out, the fluttering beat of his heart strong enough for Jaehyun’s lips to feel.

“I’m trying to be gentle.”

“Jaehyun, right now, anything you do feels about as gentle as an earthquake. Please make it darker.”

So he latches on again, laves over the hickey once before sucking hard, keeping the delicate skin trapped at the threshold of his mouth until Taeyong whines at the sting. “Enough, enough, I can feel it,” he begs.

Jaehyun releases the spot and breathes warmly over it, repeating the soothing licks a few times while Taeyong’s breathing calms again. When he pulls back, the spot burns a rich, fruity, currant wine hue that he knows will gradually fade plum and daffodil with time.

“How is it?” Taeyong asks.

Jaehyun can’t help his rather proud smirk. “Way prettier than any of the others, hyung. Just like you.”

Taeyong giggles through the blush in his cheeks and pushes Jaehyun away, letting him fall back into the mattress before cuddling close again. He sighs, contentment radiating out of him and warm against Jaehyun’s ribs, and it’s finally comfortable, finally peaceful.

“Good,” Taeyong whispers, as Jaehyun stretches his free arm to flick off the lamp that is luckily within reach, “thank you. Now let’s sleep, I want you to tell me how much better it looks in the morning.”

Sleep is already crawling its way over Jaehyun’s body, pressing down on his limbs and eyelids the same. He nods lethargically into Taeyong’s hair, enjoying the pleasant scent.

“Hyung,” he murmurs, “promise me.”

“Promise what, Jaehyunnie?”

“Promise that from now on, the only bruises on your body will be the ones I leave.”

Taeyong’s quiet, “I promise,” is the last fading sound Jaehyun hears before he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> yikes lmao, so that was kinda weird and vaguely kinky. anyway please leave comments, kudos, etcetc!
> 
> now you can also yell at me at my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/ImJaeBabie) 


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